


One, Two and Three

by Helicidae



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-05
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helicidae/pseuds/Helicidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For every great friend must first be met, second loved and thirdly lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

“ _Adar, adar_!” The boy careered into the Elf Lord’s study, small face muddied and hair falling from the short braids it was fruitlessly tied in.  “Linwelos said that he saw the first swallow of summer!  He told me it flew right over the North armoury - and Elrohir promised that he would take me swimming when the swallows came but he is still away and there is no one else --”

The words broke off sharply and there was a deep silence as the human child halted to behold the four Elves properly for the first time.  His _adar_ was sittingat his dark wooden desk, with a large tome in front of him and quill in hand, and looked at his foster son with a sort of sorrowful amusement.  The other three Elves were unknown to him and the boy flushed a bright red as he withered underneath their combined stares, some more scandalised than others, though the grief hidden well in all. 

“Ah, forgive me,” Elrond said smoothly.  “You have yet to be introduced.  Estel, I trust you have been told of the party arriving from Eryn Galen?  This is Legolas Thranduilion,” and here he paused, “a prince of Eryn Galen; Barathon, captain of the second archers; Maeglad, a scout.  And this is Estel, my youngest.”

Regaining at least some of his equilibrium Estel bowed, expression carefully set into what his brothers called his Little Business Face.  “ _Mae govannen_ ,” he said.  “It is an honour to meet you.”

It was Legolas who stood first, a weary smile on his lips, and he bowed equally low.  Estel decided that he already liked the Elf, if only for the one called Maeglad’s smothered look of horror at his prince’s action.  “ _Mae govannen_ ,” Legolas echoed.  “And the honour is my own, _Penneth_ , to meet one so august as Elrondion.”

The other two stood too and repeated the greeting, and then the awkward silence crept back once they sat down.  Estel knew he hadn’t done wrong: he wasn’t allowed in his _adar’s_ study when the door was closed because that meant his father was having an Important Meeting or wanted some Quiet, which was hardly uncommon.  No, the door had been firmly open.  But he hadn’t been dismissed yet.

“My apologies, my lords, for the wait.  Here is the missive that you required.” Estel quickly stepped to the side to let a startled Erestor into the room, who smiled briefly at the child before handing over the scroll to Elrond.  The Elf lord took it gracefully and unrolled it with care.  Erestor left, closing the door behind him.

“Estel, I believe your news can wait until the evening meal.” Elrond spoke without looking up from the spindly writing, and resumed after the child nodded quickly.  “Very well; you may run along now.”

“But Father,” Estel said, the words blurting out before he could stop them, one last attempt to lighten the oppressing mood - in his eyes the firstborn should never look sad, for when so they were so _very_ sad: “you said that I must not run in the halls.”

It was Legolas who laughed, sudden and sharply, and then rose.  “I must beg of you, my Lord,” he said, “to dismiss me now.  I have said all that I can contribute and quite possibly more, and long have I chafed in meeting hall and archive.”

Elrond looked up, handsome lips curving into a smile not at all surprised.  “But of course.  Estel, if you have no further lessons today, would you be Prince Legolas’ guide to-day?”

The boy nodded eagerly, and retreating from the study with haste he looked up at the Elf striding beside him.  “Where did you want to see?” he said, keen to show off his home, and glad that the underlining sadness was gone from the prince, or at least retreated.  And this was a prince!  A real prince! 

“I have heard that the Bruinen is wondrous to behold,” Legolas replied with a laugh in his clear voice and blue eyes, “perhaps you will show me somewhere where the waters are calm enough to swim in?”

Estel grinned, for although still young even for a Man he was not slow witted.  “I know where!  But it is a long walk.  I do not think we shall get there in time.”

“Ah,” Legolas said, and looked out of the hall through the open side, where the wall was little more than a series of pillars carved to the likeness of the boles of silver birch.  The sun shone through the gaps in the leaves of real trees standing outside to form a swaying, mottled pattern on the stone floor.  “Is there nowhere else closer to home?”

The boy scrunched up his face in exaggerated deep thought.  “I do not think so,” he said after a while.  “Nowhere that I’ve ever been, that is.  _Adar_ says that the waters are far too dangerous to swim in here, and the other places I must not go to.  Elladan says that he once broke his arm when he fell down a waterfall.  Elrohir tried to swim in to get him out, and then _he_ fractured his leg.  They do say, though, that it was a long time ago.”

Legolas chuckled, and didn’t say that he had been there when that calamity had happened.  “Do you like swimming?” he asked, eyes still facing outwards and a distance to his voice.

“Yes!” Estel enthused.  “I have only been practicing for two years now and only in the summer months but Elrohir says I am very good.  I can swim all the way across the big lake and hold my breath for forty seconds!”

“You shall have to teach me, then,” the Elf said, and unnoticed by his small guide started to lead rather than follow.  “I cannot swim very well, for there is nowhere safe in Eryn Galen to practice.”

Estel looked crestfallen.  “Oh.  That - that’s very sad.  But you are staying here for a while, aren’t you?  You can swim here!  Tomorrow - oh, not tomorrow, I have lessons with Erestor then, but maybe the day after you can come with us to the slow pools.  It is beautiful there, I am sure you’d love it!”

They passed out of the house and into the extensive gardens, Legolas’ laughter fluttering on the breeze.  “I thank you for your gracious invitation!” he said.  “But even as a guest there is much work for me to do, and I am afraid I shall not have a spare day for some time yet.”

The boy pouted, and they walked a for little while in silence.  A couple of blackbirds chased each other overhead and a thrush perched atop a mountain ash watched them pass.  Deer stepped aside from the path where they were nibbling new shoots of grass, and a squirrel chattered to itself as it followed the pair for over half a league.  It was almost wild, the woodland, but tended to by many hands and allowed to flourish in its own inclination. 

Eventually the walls of the valley made themselves known and Estel stopped uncertainly as the Elf started to climb rough hewn stairs, so subtle in the rock face they looked as if the cliff had grown so.  “What is wrong?” Legolas asked, looking back from where he had continued walking. 

“Nothing,” Estel said, “only I’m not allowed to go further.  _Adar_ says that these are the private gardens and I shouldn’t go in without permission, in case I intrude.”

“Of course,” Legolas replied, “but come.” He held out his hand.   “Here: you have permission.” Estel reached and held on to his long fingers, and together they made their way up precarious stairs and along the cliffs, Legolas one time picking up the child to walk across a single rope that was the bridge over a large ravine.  They didn’t talk much, single words and soft phrases, but were comfortable in the hushed quiet, melancholy yet peaceful. 

They climbed up and along, sometimes dipping down and through short tunnels were water dripped and moss grew, sometimes across gardens of fern and spring flowers.  Estel looked on in wonder for this was a place he had never been before, grey eyes wide as he tried to take in as much as possible.

“Here,” Legolas said at last, and stopped.  There was a towering wall of pale rock on one side, so tall that Estel even when looking vertically upwards still could not see what was on top.  The other side was a sheer drop into the valley, only ten or so feet from the cliff.  The verdant grass was long and thick but a simple path of white stone wove its way forward and a few ferns and tall bushes guarded the plain wooden arch that stood in front of them. 

Estel glanced up at the Elf, concerned, for he could hear his tone was thick with some emotion.  “Go on in,” Legolas said, and the boy did so.

The land widened behind the arch and Estel was met by a garden of white flowering grass and red campion, musk mallow growing beneath majestic trees.  But what caught his eye was the water: too small to be a lake but too large to be diminished by the term pond, the waters diamond clear and shimmering with little silver fish that hid between stones.  A little stream fed it from where it sprang in the cliff and another left to wind around the edge of the garden before dropping off the side in a rainbow spray.

Had Estel lived with his own people instead of the Elves, he would have said it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.  Even having spent most of his life in the Last Homely House he was still taken aback, and walked forward as if enchanted to kneel between sweet rushes so that he might look into the water.

“It is amazing,” he said, turning to look at Legolas.  The Elf was kneeling also, but beside a sapling newly planted.  Fine boned hands ran across the fresh soil and then caressed the slender bole with such tenderness.

“Your father gave me this garden when I first visited,” Legolas said in a low voice.  “My mother had just passed into the Halls, so I planted a tree here in her memory.” He smiled and nodded towards an ash, old and gnarled and slowly dying.  “It was many years ago.  There are other trees, now.” And there were, Estel saw as he looked around.  More than he cared to count.  His eyes stuck on the little hornbeam and he realised that it must have been planted only a few days ago.

“Why did you take me here?” the boy said, almost a whisper though he did not know why.  “I did not even know you before today.”

Legolas stood, and taking off his soft suede boots he went to lie among the roots of the ash.  “I am among the youngest in my homeland, Estel,” he said.  “I admit that it was your youth that first attracted me, for I have never conversed with one of your age, not really.  I never intended to come here, only my feet started walking this way as we talked and I decided to let them.  Do you regret coming?”

“Never,” Estel declared instantly, less hushed.

“Then neither shall I.” Legolas said, and brushed a nodding leaf out of his hair.  The prince realised then that even if the Lord of the Valley had not made clear that he favoured their meeting, he would have asked to spend time with this young Man anyway.  A pause, in which a honey bee droned to each flower and small flies twirled in the air.

“Come,” Legolas said at last, rolling over to face Estel and half a smile playing on his lips.  “Too long has it been since this garden has heard the voice of another.  As their sibling it must be your duty to tell all of those tales Elladan and Elrohir wish to keep from me, and perhaps I shall relate to you a few of my own.”

Estel laughed, woebegone mood forgotten, and happily complied.  He forgot to speak quietly, voice strong as it relayed tale after tale, and as he did so he might have noticed the branches of the trees bend down as if to listen. 


	2. Two

“Legolas,” Aragorn began, as he gave one last look over his shoulder, “I bid you reconsider.  This is foolishness.”

“Nonsense,” the Elf replied airily, as he ruffled the mane of his horse and offered the beast the last of his carrot.  “I cannot count the number of times you have said that, and we are still here, are we not?”

The Man grunted noncommittally.  “You tempt fate, my friend.  I do not doubt a horse thief would not let you go lightly if you are caught.  They are many, and well armed.”

“Oh, hush.”  Legolas said, picking a burr absently from the bay coat of the stallion and flicking it at his friend.  “You over worry.  We shall be fine.”

Aragorn grunted again, combing through his own hair in search of the offending seed.  “We? I am taking no part in your hare-brained scheme, Elf.”

“Who said I was talking about you, arrogant Man?” Legolas grinned as he continued to fuss over the horse, who whuffed and snorted into his master’s honey blond hair.  “I was referring to Lairelandon and myself.  I would not want him to be driven to a broken wind or become terribly lamed.  Elbereth knows you Men do not know how to care for any good creature.”  Then with one last pat on his handsome steed’s neck he jumped up and cast himself into the trees, seemingly with as little or even less effort than it would take to jump down.  The branches shivered then stood still, and the magnificent horse looked up.  This was a game the stallion knew well: it was often that his master would walk in the canopy rather than ride upon his back, and he had learnt as a colt how to follow the birdsong directions. 

“If you do not return before the full moon has set I will know something has gone ill,” Aragorn called, looking vainly upwards and wishing to know that the lack of a proper farewell must mean that those words were not needed.  There was no sign of the Elf, even to his experienced eyes.  “I pray to the Valar I will see you before then, my life is too short already to be cut further by a vengeful Thranduil when I deliver the news.”

Lairelandon snorted and meandered off into the forest, taking his time to snatch bites from the lush greenery surrounding him.  Somewhere above him Legolas laughed, before peace returned to the forest as they moved off. 

.

.

The full moon rose and set, and Aragorn watched the woods with a quickly growing concern.  By all rights there was no reason that Legolas should be back, for the area was hardly small and even for an Elf could not be traversed in so few days.  They had not even agreed on the time, not properly.  But there was little left to do but worry.

The young man cursed the renegade band instead: thieves and bandits, or dealers in whichsoever crime was better paid at the moment.  They were trying their hand at horse thieving now, and thus far had eluded his group of rangers.  The problem was that after the long drought that had hit this part of the land, enough of the locals had turned to felony that the members of the group were constantly changing, and none were willing to give up any, let alone the leaders, to foreigners. 

And now Legolas had decided to help.  Not that Aragorn didn’t think him capable, or that he was underestimating the horse thieves, but for him to go off alone like that -- reckless.  It was just like the prince, who used the time spent away from the demands of his homeland as freely as possible.

The sun rose and Aragorn woke alone, and he got up with a resigned feeling in the pit of his stomach.  Splashing some water from the gully onto his face and neck he picked up his pack and started to follow the trail of Lairelandon, since tracking an Elf in the treetops was impossible to anyone not an Elf, especially for tracks days old.  The horse’s hooves were not shod, and for such a large animal he left precious little marks of his journey, but it was more than enough for an experienced ranger. 

In the end Aragorn followed the winding trail back and forth in the woods, and it was obvious that the pair had taken their time and enjoyed the scenery.  Not for the first time he began to doubt how well a thought out idea this was.  Legolas’ horse was a beautiful animal, perhaps a little on the tall side for riding yet undeniably noble and worth far more than any of these people had ever seen.  A proud neck, clean limbs and with a deep barrel girth, he was a prize beyond any old nag that the farmers possessed and subsequently the bandits stole.  There was no doubt that if the thieves saw such a horse wander seemingly alone, they would fall to the temptation of stealing him.

Aragorn only worried that Lairelandon would prove to be _too_ tempting.  He had seen good men kill for less, and could not help but wonder if the Elven prince was versed enough in the world of Men to realise this.

.

.

There was shouting, and the sound of people running.  Aragorn dropped his pack and unclasped his sword, sliding it half out of its scabbard.  He had found Legolas, then, and trouble to go with the irrepressible Elf. 

He was nearly out of the wood, flat plains visible through the tree trunks, and the Man faltered as he saw five, ten, fifteen men, each with a bow drawn and pointing at the lithe creature not a hundred yards past.  They were hidden in the dense trees, and had yet to see him - or if they had, they paid him no heed.  No, they were concentrating on the Elf fighting with his long knife, fighting against three Men. 

If it had just been those Men, Aragorn would not have been concerned.  But even an Elf could not evade so many arrows.

He paused for a split second, and watched the graceful movements as Legolas danced circles around his opponents.  It was painfully clear that none of them had ever had formal training, and was almost comical how they tripped and swiped wildly at the ever elusive being, who was finding it in turn difficult to disarm them without causing any serious injury. 

Rapping one on his knuckles so that he dropped his rusty blade Legolas twisted on the ball of his foot and kicked another viciously in the stomach, leaving him doubled over and gasping for air.  But the other Man was backing away, and Aragorn could hear the creak of the bows as the archers took aim.  Of course not all would even hit: but there only needed to be one accurately placed arrow, and Aragorn felt his heart falter. 

The Man pulled out his sword with a ring, and ran towards the now lone Elf.  He could almost feel an arrow slicing into his back, but he concentrated on his feet, just run, just get to Legolas.  He watched his friend’s expression, one of relief - he mustn’t have seen the archers, damn him - which morphed to confusion as Aragorn swung his blade at the Elf, forcing him to block or else have his head removed. 

Lips opened in puzzlement as Legolas blocked again and again, but he didn’t have time to question because Aragorn was fighting for real, knowing the other was able to defend himself, only hoping that he would, even against a friend.  But seconds passed and he did not have to pull his blows and the archers did not fire, and the Man could have wept with relief.

The group had gathered around to watch, though none dared interfere.  _Trust me,_ Aragorn wanted to beg, _trust me,_ but that would be giving himself away.  Instead he tripped the Elf, who would never have let that happen in any other situation, and gripping his hair in what had to be a painful hold held his sword at Legolas’ throat.  _Forgive me._

The fight was over, and despite everything Aragorn had been allowed to win.  The sheer amount of trust still stunned him, even though he had been relying on that to save both their lives.

“Who’re you, stranger?” one of the men asked, and though his tone was threatening it held a hidden respect, and his sword was at his side. 

“I saw the fight,” Aragorn replied, “and I couldn’t let some Elf kill a Man.  Thought I’d better step in before it got messy.”

Several of them grumbled, and all hesitated.  They were farmers, after all, not soldiers, and killing in the heat of battle was completely different from killing one helpless on the ground before them. 

Legolas fidgeted, eyes shifting from his friend to the surrounding crowd, and his face was a picture of masked confusion.  Aragorn yanked none too gently on the long tresses, and shot a warning look at the Elf.  “What will you do with him?” he asked, trying to keep his voice measured.

None answered for a moment, then one stood forward.  “I say we kill him,” he snarled, and brandished a hunting knife for effect.  Immediately others raised their voices. 

“I won’t let you murder, Acton,” someone else rumbled.  “Not in cold blood.”

“He ain’t here to bandy words, fool,” another person said, “he meant to kill us.  I say we return the favour.”

“Oh, aye, and bring down the Elves’ wrath on us?”

“We’re dead men anyway, we let this one go and you think he’ll forgive us? We’ll all have a hand off for horse theft, mark my words!”

There was a pause, in which Aragorn swallowed convulsively.  He hadn’t planned this part, only thinking that by fighting Legolas he would not give them an opportunity to shoot. 

“Bring him to the old Bailey,” one man said, and several others nodded.  “Let him be tried for attacking us innocents.  Let him be someone else’s problem.”

They seemed cheered by that prospect, and Aragorn felt almost giddy with relief, knowing that they would not execute Legolas where he lay.  He stepped away and let them tie the Elf’s hands tightly behind his back, rough cord already starting to rub skin tender where it dug into slim wrists, and forced himself not to object as one Man kicked the supine body until the prince got to his feet. 

Legolas looked again to Aragorn but was pulled away roughly.  Still he could have escaped: the blade in his vambrace could slice through the rope as easily as it could through butter, and in the moment of surprise make his way back to the trees.  It was risky, to be sure, but better that than to face certain execution.  The Elf let himself be harried on, and no one objected when the ranger followed. 

.

.

Legolas recognised Aragorn as the Man crept up behind him from where he sat bound to a post, from his gait and the way he breathed, and from the fact that seconds later his fetters grew loose and then fell away.  Turning the Elf surveyed his friend, and then stood. 

“Lairelandon?” Legolas asked as they slipped away.  Aragorn forced back a harsh laugh. 

“Your horse is fine.  I set him loose before I got to you,” he said, and in the silence that followed wanted to say more but couldn’t quite manage.  Legolas hadn’t known about the archers, or why Aragorn had let the Men capture him.  But he trusted him all the same.

“How did they get you in the open like that?” the ranger asked instead.  “I thought part of the plan was to remain hidden.”

“They whipped him,” Legolas said indignantly.  “I could not let them punish my horse for their own incompetence.  Next time they should steal a Noldor steed if they so desire to force a bridle on him.”

Aragorn chuckled despite himself.  They had reached the forest, and the trees folded them into their dark shadow.  Then the pair were gone, as if they had never been there to start with.

“Yet I retain that it was a stupid act,” the Man said after a moment, treading noiselessly through the undergrowth.

“Why? We know the faces of those present, now.  I rather think that it worked very well.”

Aragorn stopped, and said hotly: “it worked well? What would you have done had I not been there?”

“Ah,” Legolas replied, “but that doesn’t matter, does it? Because you were.”  


	3. Three

Imladris was cold.  For an Elf even the Winter snow felt little different from a Summer’s day, yet cold it was in late March and Legolas shivered.  Though the halls were far from quiet, bird song and the scurry of small animals, trees and earth and insects, the Elf heard naught but the sound of memory.

.

 _The heavy door creaked as he entered, footsteps silent but the pounding of his own heart deafening.  The tall windows were cracked open and the wind trembled in._

 _._

He had left Gimli by the borders, confident that there was nothing that could harm him, old as the Dwarf was now.  The fell beasts were all killed or driven away into their dark holes.  Men no longer came through these parts.  Perhaps they had no need now that there were no Elves to trade with, or perhaps it was because they could not find their way down into the valley.  A small part of him hoped that it was the latter.

.

 _“Legolas,” he said, and his voice was so very aged the Elf almost quailed and fled.  “My friend.”_

 _Legolas closed the door with one hand and slowly made his way to the large bed.  His eyes tracked the patterns on the coverlet instead of looking at the person beneath for fear of what he would see._

 _“I have come,” he whispered._

 _.  
_

There were decaying leaves in the corners, swept into piles by the wind.  Vines had grown around pillars, swallowing whole walls.  Legolas passed a painting fallen to the floor but it was unrecognisable from the cracks and leaves covering it, mould and must, and he forced his legs not to run.  Each door was left open, and eventually he came to the end of the corridor, to the Lord Elrond’s private study.

.

 _“I knew you would,” said the person in the bed, each word like the rasping of nails on a chalkboard - but not for their sound.  Their sound was the rustle and sigh of Autumn leaves.  “I was never worried the journey from Ithilien would take too long, despite how much I know you like to get into trouble.” He coughed, and Legolas found himself frozen in place._

 _The prince didn’t say how he had rode his horse almost to the ground, willing as it was, leaving his guard far behind, and how the stable master had said how lucky he was that he hadn’t broken the poor beast’s wind._

 _._

The furniture was all there, the desk and chairs, shelves and tables.  The books themselves were mostly gone - either taken with their master or gifted to other libraries, but a few remained, moulded and crumpled in damp corners: masterpieces of history none on these shores remembered, of tales that could make a man’s heart weep or laugh or fury, of ancient, unique knowledge leaching off the pages as illegible blooms of ink.  Each left never to be opened again.  A bird’s nest was settled in one shelf but it was long vacated, filled with down and twigs and dust.  Legolas could almost see the lord reclining in his chair, a map on the desk and quill in hand, eyebrows drawn together as he concentrated on perhaps a new trade route or the petition for another path in the gardens.

.

 _“My time is up, Legolas,” he said.  “I wish to say now goodbye, and thank you.”_

 _The Elf hadn’t ever heard the Sindarin language spoken in such a voice.  It was so -- so old._

 _“You have been a better friend then I, or any Man, Dwarf or Elf, have had reason to deserve.”_

 _._

His own room was the den of a fox, and the small animal bared its teeth at him as he entered, before fleeing out of the balcony doors to the overgrown gardens outside.  The sheets of the bed were gone, as was the mattress, except for a few scraps of material rotten down into threads of fibre.  He could not quite remember what colour it had been.  The floor was soft with humus and moss and littered with owl pellets.  A robe that he had worn long ago but left behind was the bed of the vixen and its green and gold threads peaked out from between dried grass. 

.

 _“Legolas?” Elessar said, and the Elf finally turned.  His face was wet with tears and torn in confusion.  The Man at once reached out a withered hand.  “Nay, I beg of you.  Do not weep.”_

 _But Legolas only shook his fair head and fell to his knees beside the King.  “No,” he whispered, “you cannot die.  You cannot.”_

 _._

The gardens were overgrown, clogged in some places.  The plants were no longer immune to blight or fire or snaps of cold and many were brown with death.  Estel’s room was but a corridor away, though the journey felt like an age.  Though plants grew and leaves gathered, the infrastructure was as sound as it had been four millennia ago.  His door was like every other, open invitingly, but Legolas could not bare to gaze past into its depths.

. 

 _“I am old, I have lived my life,” Elessar said.  “I am content.”_

 _“How?” Legolas cried._

 _“I wish now only to sleep.  We are not the same, you and I, brothers though we may be.  I do not ask you to forgive, but only to understand this one last difference between us.”_

 _“I do not understand,” the Elf said dully.  “I will never understand.”_

 _“That is what you said when you first saw me walk through snow,” Elessar smiled, “and fall from the branches of an oak.  It will come to you, eventually.”_

 _“Will I ever see you again?”_

 _“What mortal Man knows of such things?  Perhaps.  I hope it is so.”_

 _“And I pray so,” Legolas murmured, touching the face before him.  “Forgive my foolishness.  I did not want your last words with me to be of childish questions.”_

 _“These last words matter little,” Elessar said, and his eyes slid closed for a long moment.  “For I have a lifetime of friendship to know and love you by, and you of me.  Hannon le, my friend.  Thank you.”_

 _._

 _._

 _._

The missive that had came two days later told of the King Elessar’s death, though Legolas had not needed such tidings.  He had felt the very moment in his heart and in his eyes and in his skin, in the weariness in Undómiel’s soul and in the cry of the gulls so very far away.  He already knew, from the very moment their bond was empty. 

Estel’s door was left without being passed, and Legolas thought of the wilderness that had once been Aragorn’s home that he would never again visit, and the doors of Elessar’s Minas Tirith that had closed behind him for the last time. 

“I will make my peace now,” Legolas said, “as you have made yours.” His voice wavered but did not break, and none heard him.  Then he walked from the cold remnants of the Last Homely House, and turned his face at last to the West. 


End file.
